


Edgar’s Tell-Tale Heart

by LadyStrallan



Category: Annabel Lee - Edgar Allan Poe, The Fall of the House of Usher - Edgar Allan Poe, The Masque of the Red Death - Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart - Edgar Allan Poe
Genre: 19th Century, Angst, Authors, F/M, Poetry, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStrallan/pseuds/LadyStrallan
Summary: You receive an invitation to your crush, Edgar Allan Poe’s annual masquerade ball! What will happen?





	1. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You receive an invitation to your crush, Edgar Allan Poe's masquerade ball.

Your pulse quickens when you receive the post at breakfast Tuesday morning. You aren’t very popular, besides the odd love letter from your newest admirer. It doesn’t matter though; you only have eyes for one man. You immediately recognize the masterful calligraphy spelling out your name on the envelope. You imagine him whispering your name.

“Another love letter from that Davis boy?” Asks your mother, who has noticed your blush. “Hmmmm?” You’re still lost in your fantasies. “Joseph Davis. Is it from him?” She gestures at the envelope. “I’ll know when I open it,” you say, although you already know who sent it. You cannot wait any longer, so you tear open the envelope. Inside is a neatly folded piece of parchment, which you excitedly unfold, trying not to show your excitement on your face. It reads:

_You have been courtly invited to Mr. Edgar Allan Poe’s annual masquerade ball_

_Date: October 17th_  
_Time: 7 o’clock sharp_  
_Dress: Formal attire with a mask_  
_RSVP for location_

 _Goodness, Edgar must really like me_ , you think, you had only met a couple months ago at one of your parents’ stuffy society parties. According to your sister, Rose, he almost never attends social events. You assume that he has a very specific guest list for his own parties. Without finishing your morning tea, or your raisin scone, you excuse yourself from the table and scurry off to your room to respond to the invitation. You hurriedly scribble down that you would be obliged to attend the ball, and are grateful to have made the guest list. When you are sealing the envelope with a wax stamp, you hear a loud thump outside the door. Suddenly, Rose stumbles into the room, locking lips with some mystery man. Rose always has a male courtier, sometimes even several, and although she is of marrying age, your mother puts off any engagements, because Rose would most definitely be adulterous. You give them a moment to notice your presence, but when she starts to untie his cravat, you cross your arms and say “Nice to see you too, Sister.” The man looks quite flustered, but Rose isn’t shaken.  
“I should take my leave,” He says nervously, sloppily retying his cravat. “Rose,” He bows his head slightly and exits your room.  
“Who was that?” You ask. Rose drapes herself over the divan. “No one important,” she says with a disinterested air. “I like them with more confidence. How can he be a proper husband if he runs off after getting walked in on?”  
“Don’t pretend like you’re looking for a husband, Rose,” you say. “Also, you’re the one who walked in on me.” Her gaze was distant, then she mumbled “He wasn’t a terrible kisser, before we were so rudely interrupted.” You scoff, and Rose walks over to the desk. “Finally responding to those love letters?” She asks.  
“In a way,” You reply, “Edgar sent me an invitation to his masquerade ball.” You fidget with the letter, and contemplate whether or not you should hand deliver it. You might look too desperate if you just show up on his front steps, so you decide that mailing it is the best option.  
“That Poe man?” Rose asks, she almost looks disgusted. “Isn’t he a shut-in?”  
“He’s not like that, Rose.” You pick up the letter and skip to the door, almost giddy at the thought of Edgar seeing you in more formal dress. “I’m going to the post office. Didn’t you get an invitation?”  
“I haven’t read my mail. I was rather preoccupied this morning.” She smiles slightly, before you turn and leave the room.

 

The walk to the post office wasn’t anything special, although you saw a young boy hand a flower to a bashful little girl. It made you think about when you were that small. You definitely don’t miss it, or do you? Times were much simpler back then, but maybe that’s because it was before you met Edgar. You enter the post office still lost in your thoughts until you hear your name. You glance around to see none other than Joseph Davis holding a package, staring at you. “Well if it isn’t the lovely Y/N,” he says, sauntering over to you. You roll your eyes. _I guess I can’t pretend not to see him now_ , you think. “Did you receive my letter?” He whispers in your ear. You turn around to face him. “It would be best if you stopped writing.” You say, your tone cold, “I’m not interested.”  
“Too bad,” He says pouting, “I was hoping you would attend Mr. Poe’s masquerade ball on my arm.” _Joseph Davis was invited to the masquerade ball?_  “I’ll have to decline. I will be attending though, just not with you.” He sticks up his nose. “Well then, I have to get this home.” You give him a small wave, then slip the letter into the mailbox. You hope it gets to Edgar as quickly as possible, and doesn’t get lost. This is your first time attending any party he’s hosted after all. Your mind wanders back to the invitation, and the ambiguity of the location. For such an event as a ball, half the town would be attending. Maybe he wanted to prevent any uninvited guests. You wish Joseph Davis wasn’t invited. _Oh well_ , you think, _as long as he’s not writing me any more of those obnoxious love letters_. You leave the post office wondering what you’re going to wear.

 

The rest of the day went as Tuesdays usually go, until there was a knock at the door at around 8 o’clock. You volunteer to answer the door, you have nothing better to do anyway. You open the door to see a slight man, dressed in all black. “Edgar?” You say surprised to see him on your porch. “Who is it dear?” Your mother calls from the drawing room. “Mr. Poe,” You say, a bit loudly so she can hear you from that part of the house. You turn back to Edgar, face flushing. “Why don’t you come in,” you say. “Alright,” He says, stepping in to the hallway. He always sounds kind of sad, as if he were informing you of a tragic event. You lead him into the drawing room, where Rose and your mother are in the middle of an argument. You decide that this probably isn’t the best place to discuss such an important event, and pretend you entered the wrong room. As you walk up to your bedroom, Edgar breaks the silence. “You’ve got a lovely house.”  
“Thank you,” you say as you open the door. You walk to the divan and try to sit in as attractive of a position as possible, as Edgar sits down next to you.

“You came to relay the location of the masquerade ball, correct?” You ask, almost getting lost in his eyes. “Yes, but that isn’t the only reason I came.” You lean in, intrigued by his statement. “I wanted to inquire if you would accompany me to the masquerade ball.” You’re almost caught off guard by his request, you only ever dreamt of this happening. “I- I would love to,” You say, your voice airy. Then, you lean in and kiss him. He hesitates slightly, then kisses you back. He breaks away for a second and whispers in your ear, “I can’t stay for much longer.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Meet me for tea tomorrow afternoon,” He says, then he walks over to the desk. He picks up a quill and dips it in ink, scrawling something on a sheet of parchment. Edgar folds the parchment, and puts it in your hand. “Twelve o’clock.” He almost kisses you again, but leans away. “Have a splendid evening, Edgar,” You say, not wanting him to leave. “I can show myself out,” He says. He kisses your hand, and then he’s gone.

  
It’s already dark when Edgar leaves, and you decide you should be well rested before you meet him tomorrow. You change in to your lace nightgown, and imagine Edgar unlacing your corset. You realize he didn’t give you the address of the party. _Does he actually fancy me?_ You think, He wouldn’t have kissed me back if he didn’t. You place the folded piece of parchment on your desk. Then, your euphoria suddenly stops and you realize what you have done. Your hand finds your lips, and you think of what your mother and father would think. “I _kissed_ Edgar Allan Poe,” You whisper to yourself. You fall back onto your bed and then drift off into dreams. They are mostly about Edgar. You’re in a beautiful garden sitting at a table across from Edgar, but it isn’t the Edgar you’re used to. Instead of his usual all black attire, he’s dressed in a tweed coat and a robin’s egg blue waist coat with a matching cravat. The most unusual thing about him isn’t his clothing, but a smile on his face as he gazes into your eyes. It’s almost eerie. This causes you to spill tea on yourself which wakes you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to write this fic, hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	2. The Dress-up Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You recover from the strange dream, and Rose helps you dress up for Edgar's tea party.

You wake up with a start, and immediately take in your surroundings. You sigh in relief as you realize that it was all just a dream, but you ponder why exactly the dream frightened you so much. There wasn’t that much different about dream Edgar, and yet he was completely different to the Edgar that had shown up on your doorstep. You can’t help flashing back to the smile he had on his face. Walking over to the window, you try to imagine the Edgar that had been sitting on the divan next to you grinning. Somehow, you find it nearly impossible to conjure the image.

You peer out the window to see that it is still dark outside. You decide that you can’t possibly fall back asleep with this dilemma in your midst, so you tiptoe down the stairs to the kitchen to make yourself a nice cup of tea. Tea always declutters your mind, and you relax at the sensation of the warm orange pekoe trickling down your throat. You can tell that the tea has definitely helped, because you feel your bed calling to you. It can't be any more than one in the morning, so you figure that climbing back under the sheets won’t interfere with your daily routine. Your body’s warmth is maintained by your favourite fur blanket, and as you fall asleep, you almost forget about the dream.

 

You wake up to the sound of two voices shouting, and after lying in your bed listening to their muffled conversation you realize that your mother and Rose are continuing yesterday’s argument. You pull on your silk robe, and walk down to the dining room. You guess that you won’t be eating your breakfast in peace. When you enter the dining room your mother is screaming at Rose, and although Rose is sitting civilly at the table, her face looks as though she could strangle your mother at any moment. “Enough of this Rose,” your mother yells, becoming red in the face, “I can’t make any more excuses for you.” Rose opens her mouth to say something but she is cut off by your mother. “You are twenty-two years old, yet you still act like a child!”

“ _You_ are the reason I’ve never accepted a proposal, Mother,” Rose sneers, still staring daggers at your mother. You sit down at the table trying to draw as little attention to your self as possible, but your plan is quickly thwarted. “Hello, Dear,” Your mother says, her voice sickly sweet. “Good morning,” you say then quickly revert your eyes back to the muffin you are currently buttering. Rose begins talking again, but you drown her out with your thoughts. You wonder what you will wear to tea. You can hardly wait to go through your closet and pick out an outfit, so you stuff your muffin into your mouth and down your tea. After hurrying up the stairs, into your room, and throwing open the doors of your closet you stop. You think of what you wore yesterday, and at the party where you first met. You even think of what you wore in the dream, although you aren’t sure you even know.

Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. “Come in,” you call to the person at the door. You are mildly surprised at who the visitor is. Rose has never been one to knock, and you think her sudden bout of etiquette stems from her quarrel with your mother.“Rose, thank goodness you’re here.”

“What do you need, sister?” She has a sort of solemn tone to her voice. You figure it is best to not bring it up, because you’d rather not pick a side in this battle. “Rose, you have an apt eye for fashion, don’t you?” Her face lights up, and she sashays to the divan. “Why are you suddenly keen for my assistance? You never want help with your wardrobe.”

“Today is a special circumstance,” you say, trying not to blush. “Well then,” she says giggling, “You ‘ought to tell me what that occasion is so that I may dress you appropriately.” You contemplate how to word telling her about tea with Edgar, and you don’t exactly want to call it a date. “Edgar invited me for afternoon tea,”

“Goodness,” she says, “You almost have just as much of a way with men as I do.” She laughs again and you see a slight glimpse of the Rose you know. This makes you smile. Suddenly, she begins drilling you with questions. Rose wants to know everything, from whether it will be indoors or outdoors and if anyone else will be there, to how formal of an event it is. You don’t have a definitive answer for any of those questions, really the only details you know about this whole thing is that it is a tea party that Edgar is hosting. Then, you remember the piece of parchment he placed in your hand. You hurry over to the desk and unfold the piece of parchment. Written on it is an address:

 

_1156 Aspen Court_

 

“Let’s assume it will be indoors,” Rose starts, “I don’t think Mr. Poe gets out much.” You turn to face Rose and roll your eyes. “You can call him Edgar, Rose.”

“Alright,” She says and sighs. She waltzes over to your wardrobe, and begins sorting through skirts and bodices, stockings and bonnets, pausing after carefully selecting a few pieces. You notice the get up she has picked is one of your favourite lacy ivory frocks. The fabric of the sleeves and collar is a sheer muslin lace, and you aren’t exactly sure that you are ready for Edgar to see your exposed arms and collarbones. _Half-exposed_ , you think. That just barely calms your nerves.

“I figured a tea gown would be much too over the top,” Rose states, in her usual matter-of-fact tone. “Considering _someone_ failed to gather adequate information. You, sister, need to keep your mouth shut and your ears open.” _You’re one to talk. Y_ ou think it best to not say this aloud, since Rose has technically done you a favour, but you manage to say, “We didn’t get to much talking.” After the words fall out of your mouth, you immediately regret saying it, especially considering who you are conversing with. “Sister,” Rose teases, “I thought I was the scandalous one in the family.”

“It wasn’t more than a kiss,” you say. _Why don’t you stop talking?_ It is as if you aren’t in control of your own mind, as you keep giving Rose details about last night. “You mustn’t tell Mother,” you say anxious about what she might say. Based on her interactions with Edgar at your family’s soiree, she doesn’t seem to be his biggest supporter. If she knew what had happened last night she’d… You aren’t even sure how exactly she would react, but you’re certain it wouldn’t be good. Rose helps you dress, as you know the servants would ask way too many questions, and might even relay some of your vague responses to your mother, who would then question you herself. Rose ties your corset maybe a touch too tight, but you remain silent. After she’s helped you into a small crinoline, the skirt, the bodice, the stockings and garter ribbons, you relay to her that you no longer require her assistance. Her giddy smile fades, though not all the way. Maybe you should let Rose use you as her paper doll more often. You pull on a pair of shoes that buckle, and have a short heel, which should be comfortable for the walk over to Edgar’s estate, then you walk over to the vanity. You don’t do your own hair often, although you know how. You brush your hair and then pull it into a simple up-do which has ringlet curls hanging from the back. You powder and blush your face, and put on a light pink lip stain. You take a moment to admire your reflection before tying on a straw bonnet. The finishing touches of your outfit include a periwinkle ribbon belt and crosstie, and a grey shawl which you grab as you hurry out of your bedroom.

As you walk down the hall to the stairs you pass the grandfather clock, which notifies you that the time is half past 11 o’clock. The walk to Edgar’s isn’t that far, but you decide that you do not want to be fashionably late, especially if there are other guests. So, you walk out the front door and off your family’s property. You’re glad you wore your shawl, because the autumn air is cool and crisp. As you walk, your mind wanders. You think about what exactly you want, from Edgar, from the tea party. How far will your basically non-existent relationship with Edgar go? Mother and Father want you to marry someone like Joseph Davis, someone respected and debonair. Maybe you _should_ go out with Joseph Davis. You hastily shake the thought from your head. You actually like Edgar, even if- Your train of thought is interrupted as you arrive at Edgar’s estate.


	3. The Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You arrive at Edgar's estate, just in time for his tea party.

The tall brick building looms over the street, and you stand in its shadow. The estate is overgrown with ivy, yet the lawn is neatly cut. You proceed carefully to the front porch, and adjust your shawl. Confirming that this is infact the right house, you bring up your finger to ring the doorbell. The bell rings through the house, and you hear the sound of footsteps. A moment later, Edgar opens the door wearing black trousers and a black wool coat, a black cravat, and most surprisingly, an ivory waistcoat. “Welcome,” Edgar gestures into the foyer, “to my abode.”

It isn’t quaint by any means but it doesn’t rival your house. Even though it is only the afternoon, the house is quite dark. Candelabras light your way as Edgar leads you into the drawing room, which’s windows are covered by heavy-looking velvet curtains. You walk over to a small table nestled in the corner of the room, and blush when Edgar pulls out a chair for you. You untie the ribbon of your shawl and put it on your lap. After you both are settled in your seats, you figure that a little conversation would be nice. “I hope I didn’t over-dress,” you say. It was meant as a joke, but Edgar does not laugh. Instead he kisses your hand and says, “You look _ravishing_.” You deduce that Edgar does not entertain very often, because almost everything in the room has a layer of dust. “I’ll have Jessica fetch the tea.” As he calls her name, you can’t help but wonder who Jessica is, and why he hadn’t spoken about her before. Although, your relationship with Edgar doesn’t amount to much talking. “About last night,” he begins, but you interrupt him. “I apologize if my behaviour was inappropriate, I wasn’t thinking and I-“

“No apologies,” he says, “Sometimes it is better not to think.” You reel over how nonchalant he is about the matter. “About the masquerade ball,” you ask, fidgeting with your shawl in your lap. “I believe I am far too peckish to discuss such matters,” he says. “In my opinion, social events are best discussed over tea.” You sit in silence for a moment, and then a woman dressed in servants’ garb enters the room with a tray. _This must be Jessica_ , you think, you feel a twinge of jealousy, although you know you shouldn’t. Jessica is a slight dark-haired girl, who’s grey eyes sunk in to her face. She places the tray on a nearby side table and begins to unload the tea set on to the table. There is also a tower with pastries and little scones, which look delicious. Before Edgar dismisses her, he introduces you to “Jessica, my au pair.” You nod slightly but remain silent. You even manage a slight smile. You watch Jessica scurry out of the room, she is rather clumsy-looking for an au pair.

Although your face looks rather apathetic, there is turmoil going on in your head. _She’s only his au pair,_ you tell yourself, trying not to overthink anything. Your gaze lingers at the door until Edgar grabs your chin and turns you to face him. “Does something trouble you?” He asks, you think it best not to tell him about your envy towards Jessica, so you reply with, “Nothing.”

“I do hope you mean it,” Edgar says in his usual mournful tone, his eyes, sad, though never leaving your face, “You are rather dear to me.” You take a moment to process what Edgar just said. The words echo in your mind, and finally you gush, “Oh, _Edgar._ ” Edgar seems unfazed, as always, by what he had said, and what it meant, and he offers you some tea. You remove your straw bonnet, and let it drop to the floor.You nod, then take a tea biscuit from the tower. You would prefer to get your mind off of it, so you say, “Can you tell me anything about the masquerade ball?” You lean forward in your seat, your gaze almost seductive, “or is it a secret?” You twirl your finger in one of your curls, and Edgar gulps. You feel passion building in your chest, and finally you cannot restrain yourself any longer, so you lean over the table and kiss him. Edgar feels it too, because this time there is no hesitation, and he runs his fingers through your hair, messing up the style, but you don’t care. The two of you stumble over to a chaise lounge near the centre of the room, and suddenly you find yourself straddling Edgar, lips still intertwined. Any space between you feels like too much, but your many layers of clothing make the whole ordeal awkward. Edgar paws at the collar of your dress, and even though you want to continue, you know you can’t. “Wait,” you whisper. You inhale sharply when he kisses your neck. You pull away, still on top of him. He’s still cupping your face in his hands, but you scramble off of him. “I have to go.” There is a touch of shock mixed in with his melancholy expression.

You feel embarrassment with a lingering feeling of lust, as you hurry out of the room. You stop for a moment; that was probably improper of you, leaving so suddenly, but what happened before was even more improper. Before you can continue, someone grasps your arm. You turn around to see Edgar. “You can’t leave,” he says. It’s rather ominous, and it sort of frightens you. His grip tightens on your wrist. He pulls you closer, his lips close to your ear. “Stay,” he whispers. You nod, still reeling from his closeness. He leads you down the hall, still gripping your wrist. You feel a twinge of worry as you walk past the drawing room. _Where is he leading me?_ You think, and your mind is flooded with possibilities, some less then ideal. _Was Rose right? Maybe Edgar really is a shut in. A crazy shut in and he’s seduced me to lead me to my death._ You start to struggle a little and try pulling your arm away from Edgar. The room starts to spin, and before your eyes flutter shut, the last image you see is Edgar’s face. He doesn’t look like someone about to commit a murder, but before you can continue that train of thought, everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a bit shorter of a chapter, I was very busy this past week. I won't be updating this fic for a little while, due to my busy schedule. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, stay tuned!
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	4. The Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up in Edgar's basement study.

When you come to, you take a moment to notice your position on what feels like some sort of plush furniture, before opening your eyes and peeking around. Your previous frantic thoughts were somewhat right, you seem to be in a dungeon of sorts; but not one that stores bodies. Sitting up from the velvet chaise lounge that Edgar had supposedly placed you on, you glance around the candlelit room until your eyes fall upon a man sitting at a battered writing desk. Edgar. His name falls from your lips; it sounds almost like a question. He turns around, his expression morose. It feels like time it self has slowed, as Edgar moves toward you. “You apologized earlier, for the kiss,” he begins to rise from his seat, “I believe an apology of my own is in order.” You are utterly speechless. You feel kind of guilty for so quickly thinking he was a murderer earlier. “Edgar-“ You say, this time with more force, though still the uncertainty. Edgar, now inches from where you stood from the chaise lounge, presses a finger to your lips. “Shhhh… no, no, no.” A small gasp escapes you as he makes contact. His finger slowly recoils from your face. You bite your lip. “M-my mother…will be…expecting me back home.” You can barely construct a whole, coherent sentence. His fingers brush against your own palm, “The masquarade, will be held at the old Garner mansion.” He slowly entwines his fingers with yours, and he brings them up to kiss your hand. “I shall escort you to the door.” The walk up the steep, winding, servants’ staircase is quiet, and he’s still holding your hand. You’re back at the door in what feels like an eternity, and you turn the doorknob and push open the front door. You are startled by the darkening sky, and whirl around to face Edgar. “How long was I unconscious?” you ask quietly. “I would expect somewhere around seven hours,” he begins, and your eyes widen, “I seldom check the time these days.” 

“I can’t possibly walk home in the dark,” Your voice is like a whisper and before you can stop yourself, you ask, “May I stay the night?” You silently scold yourself; this is utterly improper. Not a word is spoken as you step inside, and he closes the door behind you. There is no going back now. You follow Edgar up the main staircase to the second floor of the house, which is smaller than you expected; only two doors adorn the short hallway. By the time you enter one of the two, you’re still acting like a mute. The room has a similar air to the rest of the house, but this is a bedroom. Edgar turns to leave, quickly uttering “If you need anything, I’ll be in the study.” _Was that what the basement was?_ “Edgar?” He freezes.

 

_“Stay.”_

He walks over to the four-poster bed, and sits precariously on the edge. You close the door, and walk over to a very old, very used looking vanity. Dusting off the velvet stool, you sit and see your face in the mirror. You begin by unpinning the periwinkle crosstie and ribbon belt, which you place on the vanity. “Edgar?” You ask, “Can you help me with these buttons?” The request sounds innocent enough, but the implications are far more scandalous. He rises from the bed and makes his way to stand just behind you. You flinch when he first touches you, but just hours ago you were on top of him. When he finishes with the buttons, you pull off the bodice of the dress, and then stand up to untie your skirt which you let fall to the ground. You’re left in front of Edgar’s eyes in nothing but a corset and drawers which hem above your knees.

His lips part, possibly to say something, but he is speechless. You should be flattered, but no man has ever seen you like this before. The two of you are inches from making contact, and the silence is unbearable. You open your mouth, but what comes out is a gasp when Edgar’s palm trails up your bare arm. His touch brushes across your collarbone, and up your neck, eventually coming to rest under your chin. Your breathing becomes ragged, and when he leans in to kiss you, it feels as if you have no breath at all.

Your first kiss, the one you had hastily placed upon his lips after a surprise visit, was messy and rushed. Edgar’s kiss made you feel as though the two of you could indulge in each other for all of eternity. When he breaks away, you feel a loss, but then he beckons you over to the four-poster, which makes up for the distance entirely. He swiftly removes his coat and unbuttons his waistcoat, leaving him in just a chemise, cravat, and trousers. He takes your hand leading you the final steps until you are on the bed, with Edgar underneath you.

“Kiss me,” he rasps. You have nothing to do but obey, so you lean down and kiss him full on the lips. You’ve definitely never gone this far, your first kiss was when you were thirteen years old with some neighbourhood boy, who’s name you don’t even remember. It was a measly little peck, and you probably washed your mouth out a couple of times after. It was nothing like this. _What do you do now?_ Rose would know. Wait a minute- _Rose._ Yesterday morning you had witnessed quite a steamy exchange between her and a nameless stranger. What was she doing? The moment it came to you, you begin to do the same. You untie his cravat and toss it aside, then lean down until your lips are close to Edgar’s jawline. You kiss a trail down his neck, and revel in the moan that escapes him. Your lips return to his, and he almost forcefully grabs your hand, guiding you down his neck, then his chest, down to… his crotch. You shriek, and scramble off of him. “Edgar, I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” He demands; you’ve never seen him like this before. “Can’t love?” You bite your lip, tears welling in your eyes. “Can’t love _me?_ ” This time his voice is quieter. You slowly pad over to him, the disappointed look on his face making your soul implode. You sit beside him on the bed, leaving a space between you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. A single tear falls down your face. “No apologies,” he says, “I’ll be in the study.” And once again, you’re left alone. You lie on your side, trying to erase the feeling of guilt from your mind. _It’s all your fault. You couldn’t love him._

 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake, with sunlight peeking through the heavy velvet curtains that decorate every room in the house. You quickly redress in yesterday’s garments, you don’t have anything else to wear, quietly close the door to the bedroom, and then tiptoe to the drawing room to retrieve your shawl and bonnet. Now on the doorstep in all your clothing, you take a deep breath before setting out back home.

The walk is calm, a cool breeze caresses you as you walk in silence. You recollect every thing that had happened, Edgar’s words echoing through your mind resulting in you collapsing into a pile of sadness and muslin lace on the street. Tears stream from your eyes, and you begin to hyperventilate.

Then, someone unexpected rounds the corner, and finds you as a pathetic mess on the ground. None other then Joseph Davis. When he sees you, he sinks down to the cobblestone. He says nothing, just holds you and gently pets your tousled hair. This time, you appreciate the lack of dialogue. Joseph Davis brushes a tear from your cheek, and you move your face away from his touch. It reminded you too much of how Edgar had touched you. “Y/N, what happened?” You try to respond, but it just results in some more sobs which Joseph Davis generously allows you to stain his coat with. He wraps his arms around you, and you could’ve never imagined this scenario playing out. What had happened with Edgar was one thing, but being comforted by Joseph Davis’ embrace used to be unimaginable. But now, you never want to let go. “We can’t stay here all day,” he says softly. “Allow me?” It’s a nice prerequisite, him asking before lifting you into his arms. You give a pathetic hum. Joseph Davis sweeps you off of the ground, and begins the walk back to your estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, what a chapter! Edgar pulls a Melchior Gabor, and reader is comforted by none other than Joseph Davis. Who are you rooting for, Edgar or Joseph Davis? Hope you enjoyed this chapter <3
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	5. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You return home, get a second date to the ball, and find out some news concerning Rose.

Such a strange sight for your Mother, to see her daughter return home in the arms of a man she had shown no interest in. On the walk home, your tears had dried on your face as you leaned against Joseph Davis’ solid chest. You could just barely hear the sound of his heartbeat through his coat. The faint sound was comforting. Joseph Davis had rung the doorbell, with you still in a tight bridal carry, and now your mother stood in the doorway, opposite you both. You gestured for Joseph Davis to set you down onto the porch, and attempted to smooth your skirt.

“Y/N, we were so worried, wherever were you?” Your mother looks as though she were about to weep, her voice trembling as she spoke.You almost collapse into her arms.

“I’m alright,” you whisper against her hair.

“Y/N?” A distant voice calls, “Is that my daughter?”

“Father?” You could see him down the hall, leaving the drawing room and striding towards the door. Father had been away on a business trip for almost a whole month, and the sight of his face made the umpteenth tear fall from your eyes. He joins you and your mother in a hug, while Joseph Davis stands awkwardly on the front steps.

“I should take my leave,” Joseph Davis says, his gaze flitting down.

“M-Mr. Davis? Would you care to st-stay for tea?”

Joseph Davis’ lips curl into a grin. “It would be my pleasure.”

 

Tea time was a dreadful blend of your mother not-so-subtly pushing you towards Joseph Davis, your father droning on about business deals and finance, and Rose, showing up halfway through, and whispering teasing words into your ear. When father excuses himself from the table, a wave of relief washes over you. You excuse yourself, and gesture for Joseph Davis to follow. Leading Joseph Davis into the garden, you glance back at him. His eyes narrow. The two of you settle on an ornate bench, the backing decorated with metal flourishes. “Mr. Davis…”

“No need for the etiquette. Call me Joseph.” _No etiquette?_ _Simply absurd._ Still, his lack of decorum was intriguing. “Alright, Joseph.” The taste of the words on your lips is strange; you only ever referred to him as Mr. Davis or Joseph Davis, even as a child. It _is_ rather improper to call someone by their first name alone in public. You had known Joseph Davis- _wrong._ He was Joseph to you now. Just Joseph. You had known him for years; he was even a good-looking teenager.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Anything for the lovely Miss Y/N,” he said, you searched his expression, but found nothing except something surprisingly genuine in his eyes. Joseph had always been _debonair_ , but you thought that he got too big for his britches. His hand brushed over yours, and you tried not to cringe. Even after the whole debacle with Mr. Poe, you were still a romantic. You allowed him to kiss your hand, your lips even parting from the feeling of his breath against the back of your hand.

“Have you changed your mind about accompanying me to the masquerade ball?” You don’t even care how impolite the question was, all that mattered was that Joseph was offering you a second chance. You nod slowly, keeping your gaze on him; you don’t even blink. _Bad. Stupid. Imbecilic._ You already _have_ a date to the masquerade ball; it was even the host himself! Now you have to act like some ninny-ditz who has a new boy-toy on the hour. What are you to do? You can’t tell Joseph ‘no’ right after you had so naively told him ‘yes’.

“Splendid.” _Oh, Joseph._ You truly don’t deserve him. Even though he can be vain, and pompous, so can almost anyone else, and his good qualities definitely outweigh the not-so-desirable ones. Then, there was Edgar. _Oh, Edgar._ Even after how things had ended last night, you were still enchanted by him. The question was, did you prefer the debonair society man, with pompous tendencies, or the demanding writer with an air of mystery? This was going to be interesting.

 

You had bid farewell to Joseph not too shortly after your exchange in the garden, and were left utterly speechless after another greatly appreciated kiss on the hand. Now you walk down the hall with the intent of entering your bedroom, but when passing Rose’s door, you figure you could use some advice. Romantic affairs has always been more of her forte after all. Poor choice of words. You probably shouldn’t use the word ‘affairs’ when referring about Rose. You let out an amused hum; you do crack yourself up sometimes.

“Rose?” You call out as you enter her bedchambers. Rose’s bedroom is decorated quite similarly to your own, although you can’t help but envying the distinctly feminine air one gets when entering the room. Whether it is the excess of lace, or the colour pink, or how she always has a vase of flowers from some doting man on her vanity, or how every scrap of fabric smells of her perfume, or how she- your train of thought is interrupted by an almost inaudible whimper from the bed.

You repeat her name, as you pad softly over to the four-poster. She lie on her side, hair tousled and sprawled onto the pillow. Lowering yourself onto the bed, you set a comforting hand on her bare shoulder; it seems she is in only her undergarments. She does not speak, or even move. Who was this lifeless form lying before you? Surely it wasn’t flirty, bubbly Rose. She inhales sharply, which causes you to jerk your hand away from her.

“I’m engaged,” she whispers.

You don’t say anything, you can tell that this engagement isn’t blissful, so you decide to begin stroking her mousy hair. “I assume that it was mother wishing to spite me after everything that happened.”

“Do you know who it is?” You say softly, your face’s pensive expression unchanging. She sits up, and faces you; you notice the dried tears upon her face.

“Have you met Lord Rigby?”

“That decrepit old fogey that father occasionally plays baccarat with?”

“You mustn’t refer to him in that way, sister,” she spits, “Not anymore…”

“How could you let Mother go through with this?” You cry, not even caring about the volume your voice has risen to.

“This is not my decision!” She sounds very bitter; who wouldn’t be? “Do you think I would let myself be handed off to a fossil on my own accord?”

“I-I didn’t-“ you stutter out.

“ _You_ are the lucky one you know. Really, what I wouldn’t do to be your age and trapped between two young, handsome society men.” All of the backhanded remarks you would’ve made remain inside your head. _My age?_ Rose was only two years older than you. Also, just yesterday, Rose was convinced that Edgar was a shut-in. “It doesn’t matter. A young lady has no say in the arrangements her parents make for her.” You begin to wonder what your predicament will be in a year or two. Some girls get lucky; have a childhood friend propose, or have parents arrange their similarly aged children. Then there are unfortunate cases; like Lotte Asselmann who was shipped off to Europe to be wed to a Belgian fourth cousin. Rose fell under the category of unfortunate cases. Looking back at Rose you can see her distant expression, her removed gaze. She hums. “Mother told me my ‘days of being a coquette are over’. Lord Rigby is stern and gruff. He won’t have patience for silly girls like me,” she says, obviously mocking your mother.

“We are to be presented at Mr. Poe’s masquerade ball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Rose! The masquerade ball is coming up, so stay tuned!
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	6. The Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day before the masquerade ball, and you receive surprises from both of your admirers.

“Can you keep a secret?”

The attendees at Friday morning's breakfast were scarce, considering there was so much to prepare for the masquerade ball. You can’t imagine what kind of stress the host must be feeling just a day before the event.

“Yes,” Rose whispered eagerly. Rose lived for gossip. Chatter and rumours were her livelihood. One thing though, was that it isn’t as fun to be the subject of such buzz. Rose had been at the forefront of every society girl’s hushed conversations ever since she was betrothed to Lord Rigby. Even though their engagement was to be announced at Edgar’s masquerade ball, word gets around.

You tell Rose about your current misfortune; having two dates to the same party, and though it’s nothing to rival her problems, you could still use some sisterly advice. _This could be good for her,_ you think, _to get her mind off of her own troubles._

“Goodness, I suppose the title of ‘hussy’ has been passed down.” She giggles.

“You should refrain from using that sort of language, Rose,” you retort, “I’d be more than happy to give it back.”

After sharing a snicker; which bittersweetly reminds you of when the two of you were young, you return to lightly sipping your morning tea. Mother comes and goes from the dining room, as she is ordering around servants left and right, just to prepare your family’s wardrobe for the upcoming ball. Father is attending to some business this morning, and he vigorously assured your mother before he left that she would be his only focus for the weekend.

Breakfast ended rather quickly, and you and Rose were eager to have final fittings for your evening gowns. When you enter Rose’s bedroom; which is where you both decided to try on your dresses, two taffeta ballgowns are lying on the bed. A handmaid starts lacing you in to yours, which is a steel blue with an elaborate pattern and lace decorating the neckline. You are delighted that your gown fits perfectly, and the colour looks wonderful with your skin tone.

When you turn around you see Rose, who’s gown is a deep garnet, and hemmed with black lace, you smile, seeing her admire herself in the mirror; you always have envied her looks. Even with her mousy hair, she turns at least a couple of heads every time she enters a room.

“You look beautiful, Rose,” you say. She looks over her shoulder to examine the dress from the back.

“I suppose the dress is alright too, don’t you think?” You playfully roll your eyes. Perhaps the ball will be much more fun then you thought. Your underlying feeling of dread has somewhat faded; dread for your own situation and for Rose. You redress in your day clothes and return to your bedchambers. Boredom sets in; although there is plenty to be excited about, and the anticipation is deafening.

You decide to busy yourself by writing a letter to Edgar. You need to make some things clear before the masquerade ball. Pulling out a quill and ink, and a fresh sheet of parchment from your writing desk, you dip the pen, then begin spewing words onto the page. Your brain is definitely moving faster than your hand can write. In sloppy, rushed handwriting you write:

 

_Dear Mr. Allan Poe,_

_I deeply apologize for the events that transpired Wednesday evening. It was wrong of me to run off; it was even more improper for me to run off twice. I believe the air of scandal got to me, though I make no excuses. I do have feelings for you, no matter what my actions may have shown. I do believe that I can learn to love you as deeply as you love me, and reciprocate your passion.I hope you can forgive me, and accompany me to your masquerade ball tomorrow evening._

_Truly yours,_

_Y/N_

 

You put down the quill. You read your handiwork, then again. In the middle of your third reading, a soft tapping noise draws you to the window. On the sill sits a raven, a slight bit smaller than usual size with what looks like parchment in its beak. You unlatch the window, and the raven hops towards you, pointing its beak out. Carefully taking the parchment from the raven-you never know if birds are aggressive-you notice that the parchment is in fact an envelope.

You traipse over to the writing desk, beginning to open the envelope. Inside is a neatly folded piece of paper. _Deja vu._ You skim the top of the page for the recipients name, and find your own name scrawled on the parchment.

 

_Dearest Y/N,_

 

The handwriting looks rushed, you notice.

 

_I write you this letter with my sincerest apologies, and my most genuine affections. Wednesday evening left our relationship in shambles, and I do hope that my carelessness and vulgarity will not hinder our romantic affair forever._

 

You feel your body sag with relief. _He can forgive you,_ you think.

 

_When I am with you I feel as though there is nothing and no one else in this world, and I want nothing more than to disappear into the vortex of your very being._

 

Poetic; also, kind of creepy.

 

_You are the daylight that creeps through my velvet curtains every morning. You are a cup of tea at the temperature that is most enjoyable. You are the little dots as I write my ‘i’s. You are the feeling of content after one has finished a good book. You are so much more than I can ever fathom, and yet my favourite part of you is one unknown. I will be waiting by the library of the old Garner mansion, when you arrive at the masquerade. Perhaps then I will be able to tell you those three words that I cannot bring myself to write._

_Eternally yours,_

_Edgar Allan Poe_

 

While reading the last passage you felt your body tense, your face subtly change expressions. _He loves me._

 

Just then, a doorbell sounds through the house. Not too much after, your mother calls, “Y/N, Mr. Davis is here to see you.” _Joseph?_ You hurry down the stairs and catch your first glimpse of him down the hall. Mother has abandoned him at the open door, she must be busy, so you decide formalities do not matter tonight.

“Hello, Joseph.” You give a slight curtsy. He tips his hat.

“Lovely to see you Miss Y/N.”

“Please, come inside.”

You lead Joseph down the hall and up to your bedchambers, holding the door for him. How peculiar, a lady holding the door for a man; he _was_ your guest nonetheless. Empowering. Joseph instinctively strides over to the divan and sits. _That was where Edgar sat._ “What is it, my dear?” Says Joseph who has noticed your widened eyes.

“Nothing,” You say. It isn’t nothing. “Why have you come to my house, Mr. Davis?” You ask, moving to his side.

“I have something for you,” he says, flashing a charming smile.“And it’s Joseph. Don’t forget it.”

He saunters over to the writing desk, and you scramble to beat him when you realize that the letter from Edgar is still there, along with the letter to Edgar. You stuff the papers into the top drawer, then turn to face Joseph. “What ever could it be?” You ask, giving your, hopefully, most convincing smile.

“What were those papers?”

“It’s not important,” you try to convince him.

He cocks an eyebrow. Reaching in to one of the pockets of his trousers he pulls out a thin box. He presents it in front of you, then opens it as one opens a ring box. Inside is a beautiful necklace, with pink gems and diamonds in a brilliant pattern adorning a gold chain. You can’t help but gawk. It really is an extravagant gift.

Suddenly, Joseph is holding out his hand, “May I?”

Your nose scrunches up as you start to giggle. The volume of your laughter increases following a yelp as Joseph sweeps you off of your feet. He carries you to your vanity, spinning on the way. Setting you down on the stool, he tells you to lift your hair. He fastens the necklace, then admires your reflection.

The world is in slow motion as you turn your head towards Joseph, pressing a palm to his cheek. A hand of his own follows, softly grasping yours. Your other hand, now in fast motion, gravitates to the opposite cheek, and you pull his face towards you. As the kiss starts, you’re back in slow motion. This perfect moment should be savoured; cherished.

You break from Joseph’s kiss with a small gasp; you probably should breathe now. You watch his eyes glance over your shoulder, then he asks, “What is a raven doing in a young lady’s bedroom?” You snap around to face the window.

“Goodness!” You exclaim. Joseph chuckles.

“Don’t worry, Miss. I’ll send it away.”

Before you have time to say anything, Joseph shoos Edgar’s raven off of the window sill, and you stare as is flies into the darkening sky. Joseph lingers at the window for a moment, then turns to face you; still sitting at the vanity. “I should get home for dinner,” He says, sauntering over to you, as you decide that saunter is the best word to describe his walk. Lifting your hand to his lips, he places a kiss. “I shall wait for you, at the masquerade ball, in the ballroom.”

He leaves your bedchambers, and you hurry to the writing desk to check on the letters you stuffed into the desk. You pull out the letter you wrote, and realize there is no way to get it to Edgar in time. His raven was your original plan, but that was thwarted by Joseph. Now you’re confused. And you’re frustrated at yourself.

You tear the parchment in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The masquerade ball is next chapter! Chapters might come out a little farther apart since I'm busy with school. <3
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	7. The Masked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You attend Edgar's masquerade ball.

When your party enters the foyer of the old Garner mansion, the bustle of the masquerade guests seems to fade as you remember what choice you have to make. _Why not have both instead?_ one part of you thinks. In your life, you haven’t had to experience ‘ _or’_ in great numbers. It was always _‘and’_. But this was different than gowns, or what kind of dessert you wanted. This was a decision that would impact the rest of your life. The man you choose tonight will surely propose, and what are you to do but accept?

You look at the backs of your family; you have decided to take up the rear. Of course the strangest and surprisingly unsettling thing is that Rose walks arm in arm with Lord Rigby. She is visibly uncomfortable even though you can’t see her face. The way she tilts awkwardly to avoid brushing against him. Mother, at the front of the group spins around with a smile so grand, it almost offsets the exceedingly extravagant mask she insisted on wearing tonight. “What a lavish estate,” she gushes. You give a poor excuse for a smile. “Have fun, girls.” Really, this only means for you to have fun, as she gestures for Rose, and Lord Rigby, who is clutching her arm to the point where you fear it might bruise, to follow her into the ballroom. Now is your time. Do you follow them into the ballroom and waltz with Joseph, or meet Edgar in the secluded library? Something in you tells you to go to the library, to go to Edgar. He definitely is the more interesting choice. He seems like the more fickle one too, so you wager Joseph will have to wait.

As you walk down the hall to the library you feel some one bump against your shoulder. It seems it was your fault, so you turn around to apologize to whomever you just jostled. A man stands before you, wearing a black venetian mask. Before you can get a word out, he sweeps you into the nearest room, which as you frantically take in your surroundings can establish was some sort of boudoir.

His touch is familiar as he pins your wrists to the wall above your head; though you cannot tell if it is Edgar, or Joseph, or just some handsome stranger. Nevertheless, this doesn’t feel like a stranger. You don’t ask the identity of the man, out of fear of it being the other. If they found out, surely they’d never forgive you. He kisses you passionately, and you kiss him back. Everything else, really, everything important, is purged from your mind. All that matters is this masked man. He lets go of your wrists, and instead his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your arms instinctively find his neck. You haven’t been this— _intimate—_ with some one since— He kisses down your neck, and as he reaches your collar bone, you couldn’t be more glad of the allowance of your gown’s neckline. You inhale sharply. “I… have… somewhere … to be,” you gasp out. The man presses one last kiss against your lips, and then he’s gone, and you’re left by yourself in this boudoir.

_The library,_ your remember; your mind is swimming. You adjust the bodice of your dress, and smooth the skirt. You open the door of the boudoir, and walk down the corridor to the library. Peeking inside, you see Edgar, sitting on a chaise lounge, twiddling his thumbs. “Ed-“ he turns around, and your eyes widen as you see the black venetian mask on his face, “-gar,” you finish. “What is it my dearest?” As you approach, the mask looks more and more like one the masked man was wearing. “It was you,” you blurt in awe. You regret it immediately after it escapes you.

“What ever do you mean?”

“All I meant was…” Your voice trails off as you search for an explanation; something besides the truth. “It was always you.” _Stupid, but sentimental._

“I didn’t think you would come,” He says; those mournful eyes engulfing you, as you sit down beside him, “after… after what I did.”

“I think I could learn to forgive you.”

“But could you learn to love me? Could you ever forget?” He stands as he speaks, breaking eye contact as soon as the last word falls from his lips.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

The last trace of hope seems to drain from his expression; his eyes, staring out into nothing. You stand up and place your hand on his shoulder, which travels to his own hand. Taking his cold hand in yours, you tell him, “I don’t know if I can forget, Edgar. What I do know is that I do love you, and that is something I can never forget.” He seems to break from a melancholy trance, and he turns to you with glassy eyes.

“I cannot possibly express with words of any language how much I love you.”

You can’t think of anything to say, so you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, until Edgar leans in and kisses you. After you break from the kiss, you rest your head against his chest, and he gingerly wraps his arms around you, as if you were a glass figurine, and he thought you would shatter if he was too rough.

There was something different about this kiss, you contemplate in his embrace. Then you realize why the kiss felt so different; every other time you had kissed Edgar, it had been out of lust, out of passion. But this kiss, was out of nothing other than love.

 

The grandfather clock sounds, which you assume is striking nine o’clock.

 

“I must go,” you tell him, looking up into his eyes, “I’ll be expected in the ballroom.”

 

“Very well.” His arms leave your waist, and he returns to his seat on the chaise. “Perhaps I shall join you later.” You smile, then leave the library with your head held high, and the memory of that kiss in your heart.

 

 

“Where ever were you?” Joseph asks you. His face had lit up when he spotted that you had entered the room. You feel sort of bad for him, especially after discovering your true feelings for Edgar.

“I felt faint after the carriage ride. I went to the library to lie down.” You lie, while staring, pondering the familiarity of his mask.

“I do hope you are alright now,” he says, “I should hate to have to catch you if you faint. Then again, it would be a reason to hold you in my arms.” He flashes his white teeth in a dazzling smile. He takes your hand, and you seem to fall into his baby blue eyes. “Y/N, darling, will you give me the honour to accompany you in this dance?”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Davis.” You smile as you watch him go to correct you, but stop himself.

The waltz begins, and you feel the crowd’s gaze flitting to you and Joseph. As you dance, you realize your proximity to Joseph. It seems somewhat metaphorical, but you query that you have never felt this close to anyone; not even Edgar.

“Joseph,” you ask.

“Yes, my darling?”

“May I have another dance, after this one?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says with a grin. He really does smile a lot.

It hits you in the third movement of the waltz; just the reason his mask was so peculiar. Like Edgar’s, it is also strikingly similar to the one the masked man was wearing. You try to look as natural as possible while you gape. Was it him? Or was it Edgar? You’re back in the same dilemma before you met with Edgar. Who was this mysterious masked man?

“Is there anything the matter?” Joseph asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, with a small smile, “nothing at all.”

The ensemble finish the song, and you give Joseph a curtsy.

“I’m having a grand time,” you tell Joseph then notice his gaze past your shoulder. “What is it, darling?”

“Well if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Joseph says, “pleasure to meet you, Mr. Poe.”

“A pleasure indeed,” Edgar says; his voice is cold. He turns to you and kisses your hand; Joseph stands there stiffly. “Dear Miss Y/N, would you oblige me and be my partner in the next dance?”

“I’m afraid I’ve agreed to another dance with Mr. Davis,” you say gesturing to Joseph.

“Nonsense,” says Joseph, and you are taken aback, “you mustn’t refuse the host himself. There are still many dances for us to share.” He gives a small bow to Edgar. “Lovely ball, Mr. Poe.” He is polite but wooden.

“I couldn’t resist a dance with you,” Edgar tells you after the music begins, “as the host, I might not have another opportunity.”

“I’m sure there will be many balls after this.”

“I don’t know if I can wait.”

You are silent for the rest of the waltz, and give Edgar a curtesy when the music finishes. “Greatest thanks, Mr. Poe,” you say.

“The pleasure is all mine, my dearest,” He says before he is called over by an older woman; a Mrs. Northcott perhaps. You rendezvous with Joseph, but when you turn towards the dance floor, he stops you.

“Perhaps we should find a sitting room,” he says, voice lowered.

“But everyone is in the ballroom,” you remind him.

“We don’t have to be.”

 

Running through the corridors of the old Garner mansion, holding Joseph’s hand makes you feel incredibly giddy. There’s even a moment where you hide in a nook in the wall from some of his father’s colleagues, trying to stagger your laughter.

“I haven’t had this much fun since…” you say as you close the door to the sitting room you and Joseph have discovered, “well, I can’t remember.”

Joseph chuckles. “We’ll have to change that, won’t we.” His expression grows more serious and he takes your hands in his as you sit side by side on the settee. “Y/N, I have a confession to make,” Your brow furrows in confusion. “These past few days have been some of the fondest I can recall, and all of that has been because of my being with you. Now I realize how I truly feel about you.” Suddenly, you want nothing more than for Joseph to profess his love to you, even though since Edgar had only just done the same, the situation would become more difficult. “Before, it seemed as if you weren’t keen on my advances, but now, now I am certain.” He looks deeply into your eyes and you feel as if you are drowning in the blue of his gaze. “My darling Y/N, I am in love with you, and I have a question to ask you.” _This can’t be a marriage proposal, can it?_ What would you say? You love Joseph, you do, you realized that during your waltz, but Edgar was still in the picture, and you love him too. To Joseph’s credit, he is a better dancer than Edgar. He also has a sizeable inheritance, including his father’s estate, which would definitely insure your comfort if you were to marry him. He pauses then asks “Would you meet me for a walk, tomorrow after church? I should like to get to know you better.”

A feeling of relief, yet also disappointment washes over you, making you feel like a walking oxymoron. You should be glad he didn’t propose, right?

“I should be obliged to accept your invitation.” You reply.

“Splendid. I’ll wait for you outside of the church.”

The grandfather clock sounds again. _Deja vu._ Joseph stands from the settee. “I’m afraid I have promised my sister a dance at ten o’clock.”

“Of course. What a courteous gesture. I suppose I should meet Rose,” you say, joining him in walking to the door. He holds the door for you as you leave the room. You start walking down the hall in opposite directions, but before Joseph is gone, you turn around to him.

“Joseph,” you call. He turns around.

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you too,” you say, then smile and continue to walk to the ballroom.

 

“You look like you enjoyed your evening,” Rose says, with a fraction of her usual sarcasm. You give a small laugh. “I suppose I really did. How was your time with Lord Rigby?”

Rose’s stare is vacant as she replies, “Bearable.” _Barely,_ you think, from the way she glares at his back while he talks to Mother.

During the carriage ride back to your family’s estate, you excitedly anticipate your walk with Joseph tomorrow after church, and the possible future marriage proposal. You think about both men, and how much they both mean to you. They would surely both want to marry you. Why must your life be full of so many difficult decisions? As Rose, at least the old Rose, would put it, you definitely have two suitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The masquerade ball is finally here! I feel terribly stupid that I didn’t post this on October 17th (The day of the masquerade ball). Enjoy, and check out my other fic, The Ski Trip. It’s another one set around the 19th century/early 1900s. This fic is coming to a close with five more chapters coming soon! Note: there was a title drop for the next chapter in this one :) <3
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	8. The Two Suitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go on a walk with Joseph after church.

As the churchgoers file out, you look around for Joseph, who you find casually conversing with an older gentleman; probably one of his father’s business partners. He looks strapping in his Sunday clothes, including the felt top hat perched upon his head. “Good afternoon, Mr. Davis,” you say. He smiles and tips his hat. He introduces you to the man, a Mr. Shulman, then gives him a brief goodbye.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm for you to take. You nod with a smile, taking his arm. You begin the walk back to your family’s estate, one hand grasping Joseph’s muscular arm, the other holding your reticule. The day was sunny for October, so you were glad for the brim of your poke bonnet. The walk is accompanied by light conversation, until Joseph asks a particularly interesting question.

“Do you remember, when we were children, a day at the fair?”

 _What an odd thing to ask,_ you think.

“I don’t particularly-“ your eyes widen as you recall _exactly_ the day he was referring to.

It was a day in crisp September or maybe late August, the governess had allowed you and Rose to join a few other of the society children to the town fair. Joseph, whom you had met before, was there with a group of other boys. Of course, you were just at the age where girls started to think about marriage, and boys still thought girls were odd. You hung around a group of girls like Millie Bobbette, or Lavinia Anton, who heavily teased and pestered you to go and talk to the boys, who were over at a game of ringtoss. Eventually, you relented, and made your way to the ringtoss stand, the posse of girls in tow. You said hello to Joseph who was the only one you really knew, while both boys and girls alike whispered among themselves. He had said something nice about your dress, and then in that brief moment of silence, the other children waited with baited breath. Before you could say or do anything Joseph leapt the three feet you were standing apart and kissed you right on the lips. It was only a peck, but stunned and flustered, you stood wide-eyed staring at him wondering just why he had done that. The girls giggled and chattered while the boys looked at Joseph strangely, one even giving him a word of encouragement. You begged the girls, especially Rose never to say anything to anyone, Heaven forbid if Mother or Father found out. Nevertheless, it was still a kiss, and it was sort of a fond memory, in some aspects.

Now, you’re staring at him with the same dumbfounded look in your eyes, stopped dead on the side of the road. “I-I can’t believe you remember that day,” you stutter.

“How could I forget?” He places his hand on yours holding his arm. “You were the first girl I truly loved. Maybe the only one I ever have.”

“Joseph I-“ He stops you.

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You close your mouth.

The pair of you continue your walk, this time in silence. You look over at Joseph and ask him, “Would you care to stay a while, when we get to the estate.”

“Of course, darling,” he replies, his familiar smiling face looking back at you.

 

“What lovely tea,” Joseph says, passively trying to strike up a conversation while you stir a bit of cream into your cup. “Why did you ask me for a walk, Mr. Davis?”

“Why did you ask me for tea?” He asks, placing his top hat on the writing desk, then settling onto the chaise.

“Touché.”

You traipse over to find your seat beside Joseph. “In all honesty, I desired to see more of you.”

“What a pleasant thought,” he replies, smiling gently.

“My darling,” he starts, “there is something I have to ask you.” He holds both of your hands in his, looking deeply into your eyes. “But before I do-“

 _Ding-dong!_ The doorbell sounds through the house. No one else is home, they are all at Lord Rigby’s estate, so it is up to you to greet the unexpected visitor. “Pardon me,” you say to Joseph, leaving the drawing room to go down the hall to open the front door.

“Mr. Poe?” You freeze in your tracks. “Mr. Poe,” you repeat, this time in more of a glad-to-see-you tone, “what a surprise.”

The corner of his lips twitches up in a split second smile. “Can you excuse me for a moment?” You ask, trying desperately to hide the deer-in-the-headlights expression on your face. You gently close the door, then rush back to the drawing room. “It’s Ed- Mr. Poe,” You say in a frazzled frenzy. You ponder for a moment of what you could possibly do in this situation, then, “Go into the library. He can’t know you’re here.”

“What?”

You gently shove him in the direction of the library across the hall. You rush back to invite Edgar into the house, leading him to the drawing room. “I apologize for the meager welcome party. I’m afraid they’ve all gone to Lord Rigby’s.”

“We both know I don’t care much for such things,” he replies. You stand by the door as he enters the drawing room, nervously stealing glances to the closed library door. “What can I do for you Mr. Poe?” You ask him, silently scolding yourself for hoping he would leave. You are in love with him, aren’t you?

“I needed to see you.” You smile in a bashful sort of reflex as you sit down on the chaise.

“I apologize, but this isn’t quite a good time.”

“Why ever so?” he questions, “No one else is at the house, I would assume this is the best time.”

“You do make a valid point.”

“The best time for this,” he says, leaning in close, the last words are whispers in your ear. He kisses you, on the lips first, but then moves down to your neck, his palm sliding against the fabric of your skirt. Suddenly, your eyes widen at a most anxiety provoking sight.

Joseph’s hat sits on the writing desk.

Oh, why does everything have to be so dangerously complicated? You scan the room for any signs that might reveal to Edgar that you haven’t been entirely faithful to him. What worries have you with being faithful? You aren’t married. _Goodness,_ you think, those are the kind of thoughts that got Rose where she is; stuck with a boorish old man. Your gaze darts over to the side table where your tea cup sits, but Joseph’s does not. _He took the tea but not his hat?_

“Excuse me a moment, I have to attend to something.” He looks confused, as his hands- and lips- retreat. You snatch up Joseph’s hat from the writing desk, then scurry in to the library, being careful to close both doors behind you. The more between the two men, the better.

“Has he left?” Joseph asks, as he sees you’ve entered the room.

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” You hold the hat out in front of you, “You forgot this, in the drawing room,”

“Thank you,” he says, taking the hat from you and placing is on the armrest of the settee. Then he gestures to the open space beside him, “Please, sit.” You hesitate. Mustn’t leave Edgar for too long. He notices, “At least for a moment.” You oblige, and take the seat opposite to him on the settee. “What exactly is your relation to Mr. Poe?” He asks. The question makes your hairs stand on end.

“W-why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing really, only I don’t want anyone to get between…” he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “ _Us._ ” His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his eager lips. He breaks away with a small gasp. “I’ve been longing to kiss you again since-“ he takes an odd pause, “since our last.”

“Y/N!” The sound of your own name spooks you just as much as the doorbell. You look apologetically at Joseph. “He should be off shortly,” You try to assure him.

Closing the door after you enter the drawing room, Edgar’s skeptical eyes follow you to your seat. “Who were you talking to?” he asks, “and was that a top hat?”

“We got a new footman recently. He’s still settling in.” Edgar looks doubtful. “His name is…” you think for a moment. _Just say any name!_ “Peter.” Edgar’s eyebrows slightly lower. “Yes, Peter,” you reaffirm. “I was only giving him one of Father’s top hats.”

“Why didn’t he come in?”

“He’s very shy, you see,” you reply, increasing the lie with impressive speed, “He doesn’t like new people.”

“Shouldn’t that prove quite an inconvenient quality in a footman?”

“I suppose, but we haven’t had much issue with him.” Edgar’s unconvinced expression dissolves only slightly. “He told me to pass it off to him, and I had forgotten until I saw it.”

“Very well then,” he decides, “now to the reason I came to see you,” You are intrigued. “I pose a most important question.”

Here it is, the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re sure of it. Then, you feel an immediate desire to go back to Joseph. “I’m terribly sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment?” You say, rising from the chaise. You’re sure you look quite dazed.

You are back in the library again, in front of a smirking Joseph. “Back again?” he quips. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Poe has some business here that I’m afraid has to be taken care of.”

“Just tell me, Y/N,” he bursts out, “please tell me. I need to know because…” he takes a deep breath, and looks deeply into your eyes, “because I want you to marry me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is sadly, coming to a close. Three more chapters left! What do you think of Joseph's proposal? <3
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	9. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Joseph's proposal.

“You…want…” you can barely get out a coherent sentence. You’re so taken aback, so aghast.

“Yes, my darling, I want you to be my wife,” he says, with a look that’s almost worried you’ll refuse.

“Joseph, my goodness,” you mutter, still in shock. “I must send Edgar away at once!”

“So you will?” He calls after you as you leave for the drawing room.

“I suppose you were assisting Peter again?” You fear Edgar suspects something.

“No, this time it was one of the maids,” you lie. “I have some important business to attend to,” you say, giving him an apologetic look, “I am grateful for your visit.”

“I will leave if I must, but before I do, I have some important business of my own.”

You let out a confused “wh-?” as he takes your hand.

“My dearest Y/N, I want you as my wife. Please, marry me,” he says, the sad look in his eyes offset by a subtle hopeful air.

“Edgar, I-“ This is all you ever wanted, you realize. Since the day the pair of you met eyes at some party or other. Maybe, it was what you thought you wanted, or something you wanted before. You are unsure of what you want now.

“So?” he asks, as he has noticed your vacant gaze.

“I- I need some time.” His face falls slightly. “I need to think things over, I need to discuss this with Mother and Father. I love you, but I need some time.”

He nods. “I would wait until the end of the world, for you to marry me.”

You give him a warm smile.

 

After Edgar’s exit, you are back in the library with Joseph. “Is Poe gone at last?” he asks.

“Don’t say it like that,” you tell him, “but yes, he just left.”

“Do you have an answer for me? I’m afraid I have to be home by luncheon.”

“Joseph,” you begin, preparing to tell him something similar to what you told Edgar, “I love you very much, but I need some time to think about my future, which I hope you will be a part of.”

“I want to be your future, Y/N.”

There is a moment of silence so deafening you could hear a pin drop; or rather, the ticking of the library’s grandfather clock.

“I must go,” Joseph says, giving you a gentle kiss on the hand. You smile gently.

 

The rest of your day is spent idly flipping through books in the library, working on one of your embroidery projects in the garden, and requesting to eat dinner upstairs in your bedroom. It would be rather eerie to sit in the dining hall all alone.

At about eight o’clock the carriage arrives, which to your chagrin only contains your mother and father. “Where is Rose?” you ask, greeting them as they enter the house. It appears that Rose will be spending the night at Lord Rigby’s estate. _Strange._ After the usual pleasantries, and a few questions about the dinner and the estate, you retire to your bedroom.

 

You sit at your vanity, brushing through your hair. One thought echoes through your mind. _He proposed, he proposed!_ You aren’t quite sure if the ‘he’ you’re so excited about is Edgar, or Joseph, or even both. Braiding your hair into a loose side plait, you tie a bow at the end.

You pull on a lace nightgown, and pull back the sheets of your bed. Staring at the ceiling, your mind wanders, trying to find a solution to your current plight. After a minute, you realize you absolutely cannot go on like this for any longer. You _must_ choose between them.

With this thought, you close your eyes, and drift off to sleep.

 

You wake up to a quiet house; much departed from how it has been the past week. You dress, then head down to the dining hall, where you find Rose and your father sitting at the table, which is crowded with several towers of scones and crumpets, eggs, ham and bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and assorted spreads for the pastries. You take your usual seat across from Rose, whom you are surprised to see at breakfast this morning.

“Fancy seeing you this morning,” you say, loading your plate with your favourite foods.

“I decided to leave early.”

“Very early.”

Father pays no attention to your conversation; instead, he idly sips his coffee and reads the morning newspaper.

She picks at her food. You notice she hasn’t eaten anything, save a bite of a crumpet spread with strawberry preserves and the occasional sip of tea.

“Did you have a large dinner at Lord Rigby’s last night? You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“Yes,” Rose says quietly, “I must’ve gorged myself last night.”

Your brow furrows as you take a bite of toast.

“How did you find Lord Rigby?” you ask, “Is he kind?”

“Very agreeable,” she replies.

“Why exactly did you leave so soon?”

She stands from the table abruptly. “Forgive me, I have an appointment at noon, so I must dress.”

“I’ll go with you,” you swiftly say, following her out of the dining hall and up to her room.

“You need to tell me what happened Rose.”

She spins around, and you notice her eyes are sunken. “We had dinner last night, and I realized I didn’t bring any clothes with me. I had Dougald call the carriage in the morning.”

“Dougald? You're calling him _that_ now?”

“He says that we should start getting used to using our christian names with each other.”

“Rose, tell me what made you leave early, really.”

“I’ve already told you!” she snaps, “Leave me alone, I’m going to be late.”

You retreat slightly, with an “alright, I’ll go.”

You turn into the hall and pretend to close the door. Waiting a moment for her to start dressing, you spring back into the room. She sits on the bed, rubbing a large purplish bruise on her shoulder. “I knew it, you liar!” you spit, in a tone too malicious given the circumstances. “I’m sorry. I just knew there was something you were keeping from me.”

You sit down beside her on the bed, cringing as you get an up close look at her injury. “Was it him? Rigby?”

“He hit me,” she mumbles, “With a candlestick.”

Your eyes widen and you swallow. “You can’t marry him,” you decide, “you need to tell Mother.”

“I can’t,” Rose immediately counters, “I can’t tell anyone.”

“You told me.”

“You weren’t supposed to know.” She sighs. “There isn’t much to be done anyways. Mother has already set the wedding date.”

“If it would make you feel better,” you say, “I have some news of my own.”

Rose nods as a gesture for you to continue.

“Joseph proposed.”

“As in Davis?” she asks, “As in… _that_ Joseph?”

You glare at her in embarrassment. “Yes, _that_ Joseph.”

“I thought you were interested in that Poe man. Although, I do remember seeing you with Joseph at Poe’s ball.”

“That’s just it,” you add, “Edgar has proposed as well.”

Rose lets out an animated sigh. “Why is your life so much more exciting than mine?”

“It didn’t use to be.”

After a moment of silence, Rose decides to get on with her morning in honour of not being late to her appointment, and banishes you from her room.

You decide that you should pay Edgar a visit. You weren’t very hospitable when he had been at your own estate so you figure it would be polite to call on him. You smooth your blue and white striped dress as you sit at your vanity, then straighten your straw bonnet. You had always loved the red ribbon it had.

After telling Father you were going, you set out on your walk. You aren’t quite sure what you’ll do when you get there.

It was all floating around in your head. Saying yes, saying no, the wedding date, Rose and Rigby, Edgar and Joseph. In what felt like an instant, but probably took twenty minutes, you arrive in front of Edgar’s house. Walking up to the front porch, you take a deep breath before ringing the bell. Not long after Edgar opens the door and looks at you ardently with his sad eyes, a familiar voice calls your name from behind. Previously walking down the street, but now stopped dead in front of Edgar’s house, stands none other than Joseph Davis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left! Hope you enjoyed this one. <3
> 
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	10. The Wind and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph spots you visiting Edgar's house.

 

“Joseph?” He looks confused at your being at Edgar’s house.

“What is he doing here?” Edgar asks between gritted teeth.

“Y/N,” Joseph addresses you with a furrowed brow,“What business have you _here?_ ” You look helplessly between the two of them, moving back down the steps towards Jospeh; to your chagrin, he continues. “Is this why he was at your estate yesterday?”

“How did you know I was at her house?” asks Edgar skeptically. You open your mouth, but before any sort of sound can escape, Joseph explains, “Why, I was there.”

“Y/N,” Edgar turns to you, “While I was expressing my ardent love for you, you were hiding this man,” he points aggressively to Joseph, “in your house. While I was asking you for your hand in marriage.” He sighs and looks heartbroken. Joseph interjects, “You proposed?”

“Joseph-“ You try to do something, but everything is falling apart.

“Yes, wh-“

“How could you?” Joseph sounds more distraught than angry.

“What-“

“I proposed to her as well.” His face falls.

“Y/N, I thought you were different,” says Edgar.

“I only-“

“No,” says Joseph, “I don’t think I can trust you anymore.”

“You really played us, Y/N. You’re just like every other vindictive, entitled, society girl who thinks people are her playthings. I can’t do this anymore. I revoke my proposal.”

“Edgar, please!” Your voice is desperate.

“I revoke mine as well,” says Joseph.

Your eyes well with tears. “You-“ You hear Edgar’s door closing, and you run back up to the porch, but it’s too late. You look back towards Joseph with a pleading expression.

“I guess this is how it always was. You running towards _him_ , and me staying exactly where I am.” He briskly tips his hat. “Good day, Miss Y/N.” He leaves in a huff of anger, betrayal, and despair.

“Joseph, wait!” You run towards the street, but Joseph has taken off, not even bothering to look back.

You bite your tongue and try not to cry. The afternoon clouds grow darker, matching your gloomy mood as you speed walk down the road.

Rose still isn’t back, you notice as you rush up to your bedroom; not that you’re in the mood to talk to anyone anyway. You slam your door then untie your bonnet and whip it across the room. It smacks the window then falls to the ground. In your rampage, you move to the writing desk, throwing open the top drawer to find your letters from Edgar. You had put them in a little keepsake box. You open the box to find the invitation to the masquerade ball, his note to ask you for tea, and the letter he had written you after- that night. At the bottom of the box is also the two pieces of your letter to him. You rip each note until you are standing surrounded by tiny remnants of paper. Sinking to the ground, tears begin to fall from your eyes. Your hand finds your mouth, covering it as you shake. As you calm your breathing, you walk back over to the vanity, take down your hair, and begin to undress. You put on a simple ivory lace nightgown. Sitting back down at the vanity to braid your hair, you open a drawer to retrieve the hairbrush. Instead you find the necklace that Jospeh had given you, sitting there to mock you. You walk back over to the mess of paper scraps on the ground, and pile them all into the ornamental box. Before closing the box, you place the necklace in as well; a reminder of both of your failed relationships. You wipe away a tear, determined not to weep again, but you stall your self just long enough to make it over to the bed before you collapse. You fall asleep, exhausted from your tears.

 

The rest of the family is at Lord Rigby’s you wake to discover; the wedding is growing anxiously close. You take a moment to stare at the ceiling before you rise from bed and begin your day. You eat alone in the dining room; another cruel reminder of your predicament. The clouds look drearier than the day before, so you assume it is due to rain. How fitting. It is half past noon when the drizzle begins, quickly picking up into a downpour. You put on a cloak and go sit on the front step, watching the raindrops fall, and the scenery blurred by the weather.

They told you they loved you and now they’re both gone. Your mind wanders back to your relationships’ unfortunate endings. _This is all your fault,_ you think, _you ruined this for yourself._ Your marriage prospects are low, basically non-existent now, not something desirable to the second born daughter of an estate owner. You are now soaked with rain, your hair mussed and your teeth chattering with cold. You don’t go back inside, instead you keep sitting in the cold rain, staring off into the distance for some sort of answer.

The figure appears not too far from you, but your vision is obstructed by the now violent downpour. You see a man walking through the rain holding his coat over his head in the place of a proper umbrella. He appears to be travelling towards your pitiful spot on the front step. He shouts your name over the din of the rain. Soaked or dry, you’d know him anywhere. As he approaches, you see you are correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next, and last :(,chapter will actually be two! Read the ending with who you want to end up with, or read both!   
> \- LadyStrallan :)


	11. Epilogue (Edgar Version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and chapter ten should be read back to back, so re-read that chapter if you haven't already.

His speed increases as he begins to run through the rain. “Edgar!” you call after him as you scramble to meet him half way down the path. You practically jump into his arms. His embrace loosens after a moment, but he keeps his arms wrapped around your waist.

“I was a fool,” he begins, but you cut him off.

“Don’t apologize, Edgar. I’m the one to blame.”

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

“And I shouldn’t have lied.” Your gaze falls to his feet. Several raindrops drip off your eyelashes. Putting his finger under your chin, he tilts your head up to meet his eyes.

“I’d still like to marry you if you’ll have me,” he says softly. His lip quirks again. You grab his face with both hands and pull him into a long kiss. He looks at you strangely and you realize you haven’t given him an answer.

“Of course I’ll marry you!” This time he pulls you into a kiss. Both of you are completely

soaked and chilled to the bone, but you’ve never felt warmer.

“Shall we head inside?” Edgar asks.

“No,” you reply, “I never want this moment to end.”

“Or,” says Edgar, his eyes narrow and he cocks an eyebrow, “we could return to my house and have a moment there.”

You blush and giggle softly. “What a lovely idea, Mr. Poe.”

You take his arm, preparing to walk back to his house. Suddenly, your family’s carriage pulls up to the front of the estate. Spotting you from the window, your mother neglects to wait until the driver opens the door for her. She throws open the door, taking off towards you and Edgar.

“Y/N, what ever are you doing out in this rain?” Before you can answer she says, “Never mind that. Something dreadful has happened.”

“What is it?” you ask worriedly, though letting go of some nervous tension as you spot your father and Rose moving to join your mother.

“I’m afraid it is Lord Rigby,” Father says. You look to Rose, having a difficult time trying to read her nondescript expression. “He was in the sitting room with Rose this morning when-“

“Oh, how horrible,” adds your mother.

“When he collapsed.”

Your brow furrows in concern. “So is he-“

“Dead.” says Rose before you can finish. The family looks at her strangely; this is the only word she has said since the carriage ride. “A heart attack.”

Mother looks to you again, “Yes, the coroner said it was a heart attack.”

“How awful,” you say passively. “I was just heading over to Mr. Poe’s-“

“Never mind that now,” says your father, “I believe your sister needs your support.”

“Of course.” You look to Edgar who you are still holding the arm of. “I apologize Mr. Poe.”

“No need,” He says and lets you slip your arm out of his. “Tomorrow then?”

You give a small smile. “Tomorrow.”

Then he’s off down the path back towards his house.

 

_Two years later_

 

The wedding was in early autumn, the colourful leaves complemented your ivory wedding gown. The church was decorated with seasonal chrysanthemums and braided garlands. The wedding party wasn’t big by any means, Edgar hardly had anyone to invite besides a small group of relatives. Rose and her new fiancé were in attendance; although she was dressed in mourning, she had an air of unspeakable joy and relief. She had met Leonard Levinson only a week after Rigby’s demise; he was in town on business, visiting from New York.

Leonard was a gentleman. Every time he would call her ‘my darling’ she would visibly melt. They were perfect for each other. So were you and Edgar.

As you recited your vows, you could see Edgar’s lips twitching; even swearing you saw a tear trail down his cheek.

You moved to Baltimore after that, settling down in a comfortable new manor with your new husband. _You were Mrs. Allan Poe._

The life of an author’s wife was not an especially challenging one to live. He would write you poems; sometimes you’d wake up to a fifteen page love letter waiting on your vanity. Since you were married, he had made you his muse; not that you weren’t already, but now he seemed completely enraptured by you.

You hadn’t heard from Joseph Davis in years. Not since that awful day. You were glad, in part, that he hadn’t come back; it definitely was less complicated. A part of you though, has always wondered what would have happened if it had been Joseph in the rain instead of Edgar, what your life would be like now.

 

You lie in bed, about to call the maid to help you dress, but wanting to savour this time of day; the calm of the early morning. You shouldn’t neglect to see Edgar before he retires into his study for who knows how long. That is the only lonely thing, about being Edgar’s wife. At least you can always invite someone over for tea, or insist they stay for luncheon. You _are_ a lady of society now after all. Grabbing a robe, you head downstairs, where Edgar is having tea in the library.

“Good morning, my dear,” he says, peeking over a book. Edgar was never one for the newspaper.

“Good morning,” you reply.

“Why ever are you up so early?” he asks.

You smile softly, moving closer towards where he is seated. “I have something to tell you. Something important.”

He closes his book, placing it on the table beside his armchair. “What is it?”

“Edgar, I-I think I’m pregnant.”

His mouth falls open after you break the news. He is aghast in what you hope is overwhelming joy. You can tell that he is trying to say something but he is utterly speechless. All that he can say is your name. He barely whispers it. Then, he pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly. You can feel a genuine smile on his lips as they touch yours.

“What a miracle,” says Edgar after you finish. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Edgar.”

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has finally come to an end. I’m sure some of you are sad to see it go, so let me know in the comments or leave kudos if you would like to see a sequel or some sort of spin-off in the future. Also, comment who you would want to end up with; Edgar or Joseph Davis. Just curious :). Anyways, check out some of my other fics if you haven’t already, and I hope you enjoyed this one.
> 
> \- LadyStrallan <3
> 
> P.s. Thanks for reading and supporting this story <3


	12. Epilogue (Joseph Davis Version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and chapter ten should be read back to back, so re-read that chapter if you haven't already.

You stand from your place on the steps, running towards him. As you meet, you fall into a long awaited embrace. “Joseph,” you sigh into his soaking coat.

He holds your face in his hands, “Y/N.” Not knowing what to say, you stare at his face; watching how the raindrops slide off of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says finally.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m sorry.”

“Well, if it means anything to you; you have my forgiveness,” he says. If you were taller, your face would be mere inches from his.

“Of course it means something to me. It means everything.”

He smiles; not one of his dazzling pretty-boy smiles, but a smile of relief. “I regret revoking my proposal more than you know,” he begins, “So, I’d like to ask you again.” Your eyes well with tears as you realize what he is about to say. “Y/N, my darling, will you take my hand in marriage and be my wife?"

You barely wait for him to finish the last word before you pull him into a kiss. When your lips part, he asks, “So is it a-“

“Yes. Yes, Joseph I’ll marry you!”

He looks like he could also burst into tears, accept for the smile upon his face. Then, his expression falls. “What about Mr. Poe?” Jospeh asks.

“What about him?” The pair of you begin to laugh until you start to lose balance toppling Joseph with you on to the path.

Your dress is muddied and so is Joseph’s suit, but you can hardly care, due to the circumstances. Joseph helps you stand up and try to make your dress more presentable, then asks, “Shall we head back to the Davis estate, or would you be more comfortable here?”

“I’d love to go,” you reply.

You take his arm, preparing to walk back to his house. Suddenly, your family’s carriage pulls up to the front of the estate. Spotting you from the window, your mother neglects to wait until the driver opens the door for her. She throws open the door, taking off towards you and Joseph.

“Y/N, what ever are you doing out in this rain, and why are you covered in mud?” Before you can answer she says, “Never mind that. Something dreadful has happened.” She gives a hasty nod to Joseph, “Good evening Mr. Davis,”

He replies with a nod of his own, “Madam.”

“What is it?” you ask worriedly, though letting go of some nervous tension as you spot your father and Rose moving to join your mother.

“I’m afraid it is Lord Rigby,” Father says. You look to Rose, having a difficult time trying to read her nondescript expression. “He was in the sitting room with Rose this morning when-“

“Oh, how horrible,” adds your mother.

“When he collapsed.”

Your brow furrows in concern.“So is he-“

“Dead.” says Rose before you can finish. The family looks at her strangely; this is the only word she has said since the carriage ride. “A heart attack.”

Mother looks to you again, “Yes, the coroner said it was a heart attack.”

“How awful,” you say passively.

“Yes, how ghastly,” says Joseph.

“I was just heading over to Mr. Davis’-“

Joseph looks at you. “Don’t worry about me, Y/N. Your sister needs you.” He lets you slip your arm out of his. “I’ll call on you tomorrow after luncheon.”

“Alright,” you say, blushing.

He nods to your parents and Rose, “My condolences.” Then, he sets off back towards his estate.

 

_Six months later_

 

Your wedding to Joseph was held in late April the next spring. The church was decorated beautifully with ribbons and bouquets of spring flowers. There were a great many guests; both sets of parents wanted everyone and their mothers to attend what they thought would be the event of the year. Among the crowded wedding party were Rose and her new fiancé; Leonard Levinson. Although she was dressed in mourning, she had an air of unspeakable joy and relief. She had met Leonard only a week after Rigby’s demise; he was in town on business, visiting from New York.

Leonard was a gentleman. Every time he would call her ‘my darling’ she would visibly melt. They were perfect for each other. So were you and Joseph.

It was like a fairytale; the prince of your childhood had become the king of your adulthood. You had married your first love.

Joseph took ownership of the Davis estate shortly after the wedding, and the house was large and lavishly furnished.

You hadn’t spoken to Edgar since that dreadful day. You had heard though, that he moved out to Baltimore. You were glad, in part, that he hadn’t come back; it definitely was less complicated. A part of you though, has always wondered what would have happened if it had been Edgar in the rain instead of Joseph, what your life would be like now.

 

You lie in bed, about to call the maid to help you dress, but wanting to savour this time of day; the calm of the early morning. You shouldn’t neglect to see Joseph; he told you last night that he had to run down to the office. When he has left you could always invite someone over for tea, or insist they stay for luncheon. You _are_ a lady of society now after all. Grabbing a robe, you head downstairs to the dining room, where Joseph is eating breakfast and reading the newspaper.

“Good morning, darling,” he says, lowering his newspaper.

“Good morning,” you reply.

“You’re up early.”

You smile softly, moving closer towards where he is seated. “I have something to tell you. Something important.”

He places the newspaper on the table and looks at you with a look half of concern and half of intrigue. “What ever is it?”

“I’m pregnant,” you say, beaming at him, placing a hand on your stomach.

Jospeh’s mouth falls open, then quickly curls into an overjoyed smile. “Oh, my darling, that’s wonderful!” He rises from the table, sweeping you into a kiss.

“I love you, Joseph Davis,” you tell him after your kiss.

“And, I, you. With all of my heart.”

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has finally come to an end. I’m sure some of you are sad to see it go, so let me know in the comments or leave kudos if you would like to see a sequel or some sort of spin-off in the future. Also, comment who you would want to end up with; Edgar or Joseph Davis. Just curious :). Anyways, check out some of my other fics if you haven’t already, and I hope you enjoyed this one.
> 
> \- LadyStrallan <3
> 
> P.s. Thanks for reading and supporting this story <3


End file.
